


Finding a Way

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: How does Bill Scully Jr react to the news of his sister's pregnancy?





	1. One

She’d ignored twenty-six of Bill’s calls. Her brother had sent her seventeen text messages, some with the footage of Mulder on the news attached. He’d used capital letters in the last one. When Mulder got tired of watching the phone buzz and slide across the table, he’d picked it up and read the message in an unnecessarily militaristic parody of Bill’s voice, CALL ME.

“I think you really need to CALL HIM,” he’d said, doing his impression again and giving her a towel to dry her hands. Her full breasts bobbed on the water, pale green veins spidering across her milky skin. The rich rust of her areolas reminded him of autumn, but that was the ending of things.

He took back the towel and it scraped across his hands. He should have got one of the fluffier ones out for her. One of hers.

“I will, but not now.” She sunk under the bubbles and he scooped out a foot, rolling it between his hands until her phone buzzed again. “FUCK OFF BILL.” She spoke with capitals, but big brother wouldn’t get the message. He was always tone deaf.

“We’re spending the weekend,” she’d said that night as he folded around her. “I’m sorry.” She apologised too much lately. They both did.

Outside, the wind shrieked apologetically too and he felt the cool draught through the window frame that rattled. He had to fix it. He had a lot to fix.

***

Inside the house is as glossy as the door. It’s shiny in a cold way and Mulder wants to pull Scully to him, feel her ripening against him but she’s already being escorted into the kitchen by Tara, leaving him standing in front of Bill, feeling like he should click his heels together and salute. YES SIR, NO SIR, HOW HIGH SIR. All capitals.

“Mulder,” Bill says, his hand gripping him a beat longer than necessary. “How long’s it been? Tara and I couldn’t remember the last time you visited.”

“We’ve…we’re…pretty busy, Bill.”

“Seems wrong that the Bureau would send you two out in the field these days.” There’s a coldness in Bill’s eyes that matches his tone. “Dana’s over fifty now. Surely the Bureau can find other uses for her.”

Over the grand fireplace is a portrait of William Scully senior in full military garb. Along the mantle are family photographs. Maggie is beaming. Melissa is wearing a floppy hat and its shade covers her eyes, but he knows they’re smiling. There are only baby photos of Charlie. Bill’s family is upright and groomed and proud. They look pretty useful, like they belong somewhere. Inside his pocket, he finds a screw and runs it between his fingers, letting the scoring dig into his skin.

“We don’t let the Bureau rule our lives, Bill.” Scully looks tiny inside the woollen hoody she’s taken to. Its soft grey covers her gentle curves. They’d never guess in a million years, they’d just think she had gained a few pounds and knowing Tara she’d probably giggle that it suited Dana better, having some meat on her bones.

A slow frown sinks over Bill’s eyes and behind him his father seems to sit up higher. “Well, that’s good to hear, Danes. You always gave the job too much of yourself. Where’s that coffee, Tara?”

“Coming,” she said. “Dana’s having tea, those herbal green teas that I got from the farmer’s market last week have come in useful. Did you want a slice of walnut cake, Fox? It’s Maggie’s recipe. The one with the lemon cream icing. I can never get it as smooth as she did but I like to think I’m carrying on a Scully tradition.”

Mulder doesn’t have time to shake his head before she’s pushing a plate into one hand and a mug into the other. “

“I’ve taught Matty to bake it too. You know, being the only…” She stops, looks to Bill, who is sipping his coffee.

Scully sits on a high-backed chair holding her tea cup. Fine china with a rose pattern trailing around it. There is a trellis in their yard that has slats missing, but the deep red rose that climbs it doesn’t seem to mind. In mid-summer flowers poke through every which way and the scent it spreads is sweet. That rose was there before they bought the house. It flourishes even without any care. Sometimes nature defies logic. Scully would scoff, but it’s true.

“The cake is good,” he says. “It’s important to keep up family traditions.” And Tara beams.

***

In the car, Scully rested her forehead on the window. She used to do that on the road, on those cases he selected, the ones he’d sell to her by slideshow. Her level of scepticism in the case rose or fell on the length of time she spent asleep in the car.

“We don’t have to do this, Scully. We can turn round. We can wait.”

“For what? Wait for what, Mulder?”

He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know. What would be better in four months, two months, next week? “I just don’t want you to do anything that will…”

“That will jeopardise the health of this baby?” She shifted up and pulled out the seatbelt. There was a defeated note to her voice. Like she’d already discovered something. His heart hurt against his ribcage.

As much as he’d tried to get used to the idea of a child, of the mystery and miracle of a new baby, he hadn’t gotten over the shock of it, nor of losing William. For weeks now he’d woken with the all too familiar pull of sadness, he’d tried to dismiss the numbness that spread through his veins and he’d ignored the burn in his stomach, the ache in his marrow. Scully had suffered morning sickness all day yet she’d got up every day and got on with life. He knew he had to do the same. There was a life inside her, a baby that would rely on her, and on him. But the responsibility of parenthood this time round held a different weight. There was no conspiracy to shut down. No end of days to prevent. It was just the frighteningly heavy burden of duty, of a normal life to lead. But how could he tell her he was frightened?

“How will you tell them, Scully?” The road ahead was murky with a settling rain. He flicked on the wipers and the monotonous drone helped his brain work, like a metronome helped a musician play.

Her hand on his thigh sent a welcome warmth through him. “We’ll find a way.”

***

Bill insists on taking Mulder on a tour of the house. There are so many rooms, so neat. Bookshelves taking up entire walls. Clear windows with heavy drapes. Mahogany-framed portraits and landscapes on the walls. Springy carpets underfoot. There are no cobwebs or cracked panes or chipped floorboards or broken cupboard door hinges. The towels are fluffy, the sheets are Egyptian cotton, the furniture is not from Ikea. There is nothing to do here but live a comfortable, fulfilling life.

“This is your room.” Bill looks at the king bed, dressed in soft peaches and creams, and grimaces. “This was the room mum used to stay in.”

Mulder nods. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“The last time we saw Dana was too long ago. We took a drive out to your house once when we visited her but you weren’t there. She said you’d been unwell. When I saw you on the news tape, I figured what kind of unwell you’d been.” His tone was sharp, underlining the fact that he didn’t consider that type of ‘unwell’ to be real.

“I’m much better now, thanks.” Bill’s eyes won’t leave him, even when Mulder walks to the bags standing by the window.

“And how are things with you and Dana? She seems tense. But you’re together again. I don’t really understand the dynamics of your relationship. I never have.”

“We…we’re good, Bill. We’re just taking one day at a time.”

Bill walks to the bed, smoothes the coverlet, plumps the pillows. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Tara pokes her head around the door and shoos Bill away from the bed. Scully walks behind her, hands clasped under the small rise of her belly.

“Come help me with dinner, Bill and leave these two to settle in.”

“What does one day at a time mean, Dana?” He towers over his sister and Mulder counts to ten under his breath.

Scully merely huffs out a loud, impatient sigh and walks under her brother’s arm. “What time do you want us down, Tara?”

***

She’d missed the 12 week scan because she hadn’t realised she was pregnant.

“I’ve been missing periods for years. I didn’t think…the symptoms are similar to menopause. I don’t even know what made me do the test. I saw it on the pharmacy shelf and picked it up.” He held her as she shook against him. Even after all their years together, it was so Scully to do this stuff alone. To find out all the facts before revealing them to him. He thought of her cancer reveal. How she’d learned everything she could before presenting the fait accompli to him in that too-bright room.

“We can still get the scan, though?”

“I saw the OB-GYN yesterday.” She cast her eyes down, wouldn’t look at him. The flame of fear burst out of his gut.

“What did she say? Why didn’t you let me come? I want to be involved, Scully. I need…”

Her hand on his chest quelled his fear a little. “I’m sorry, Mulder. You’re right. I should have let you come. But you’ve been…”

“Is there something wrong, Scully? With the baby?” His breath got stuck in his throat and a vague pressure built up in his temples. In his mind he was saying sorry again. Over and over.

There were tears shiny in her eyes, loaded, ready to drop. She shook her head. “Not that we could see in that scan. But they’re not always accurate. The risk of genetic or chromosomal abnormalities in geriatric pregnancies is high. An amniocentesis is the best way to be sure.”

“But do you want that, Scully? It’s invasive, isn’t it? There’s an inherent risk in the test itself.”

She pulled away from him, sniffing back those unshed tears. “Don’t you want to know what we’re dealing with here, Mulder?”

She spread her hands over her abdomen. He imagined the baby rolling and turning under them, seeking their heat. This baby, like William, was an unexpected invader. They had made love sporadically over the years they’d lived apart. Neither of them really wanting to draw a final line. But since she’d told him, she’d spent more time at the house and eventually, recently, moved back in. The inquiry into the deaths, into Jackson Van De Kamp’s disappearance, was being dragged out. Kersh had approved their leave with pay but only to save face. It was only a matter of time before everything changed. Before everything changed again.

“I don’t know, Scully. I’m not sure I’ve ever really known what we’re dealing with.”


	2. Two

Dinner is at 7pm. It’s too hard to get up. The soft bed pulls him further under, a warm grogginess enveloping him. His brain is mush. He remembers feeling like this for years, it’s why Scully left in the end. He couldn’t get up. Life pulled him under, kept him down for days at a time. While Scully worked, he slept and when he did wake, the fatigue made his limbs leaden and he sat in his study while Scully kept them both going.

“Mulder,” she says. “It’s time to get up.” There’s a whisper-kiss and the faint aroma of Earl Grey. It’s enough to rouse him but when he sees the curve of life at her waist, guilt pinballs through him again.

The light over the mirror is harsh. Maggie Scully judges him from a gold frame on the vanity. “Are we doing it tonight?” His hair is sticking out. His chin is sprinkled with peppery whiskers. His clothes are rumpled. Bill will see him as he sees himself – old, unkempt, not fit to be anything, let alone a father.

“We’ve faced worse, Mulder.”

He lifts her hand to his rough chin. “But has Bill faced worse than this?”

She lets out a laugh and it settles around his ears. “He’ll come round.”

Mulder breathes out, leaning on the basin. “I’m not sure I have yet, Scully.”

Her face falls serious. Her short hair is pushed back behind her ears, like she used to wear it, but twenty years and a late-life pregnancy makes her face sharper in places. She hides the grey. She uses more foundation to cover not just that fucking mole, but her lines. She’s been taking multivitamins for years, even though they both know they’re about as useful as bee pollen in yoghurt. She does weight training, Pilates, swimming. She drinks a little alcohol, too much caffeine and indulges in Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel more often than she’ll admit. She’s 54. He’s 56. The sum of their years is going to catch up with them at break-neck speed. It’s amplified now but when the baby is born, it’ll be blaring out of every speaker.

“We can’t have this conversation now, Mulder. We have to go down for dinner.” Her hands are kneading her hips and she’s looking at the polished floorboards.

“What happens if there’s something wrong with it? How can we look after it?” 

The fear spills out and takes the shape of words. She turns to walk out. He swings round to catch her arm. “I wasn’t there for you and William. And truth be told, Scully, when I came back and he was gone the first thing I felt was relief, because I knew I couldn’t fuck it up. I’m scared, Scully. And I’m sorry.” His hands are around her neck, nails digging into the taut line of muscle across her collarbones. Tears sting his eyes but they won’t fall, just stay there, trapped and useless.

“We’ll find a way, Mulder.”

***

Scully straddled him and rubbed her wet heat along his length. She was full, ripe above him. Breasts heavy, inviting his gentle touch, hair hanging forward as she rocked, soft thighs bracketing his. She’d been sick but told him she needed to feel him inside her. Her mouth pushed against his and he let go of the fear that had balled up in his stomach like a clenched fist.

She lifted herself up to slide on, taking her time, easing herself down. She grimaced and he held his breath.

“It’s okay, Mulder. It’s just been a while.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. We don’t have to…”

She let her head drop back and he watched her throat as she swallowed and talked. “I want to. I need to. I want to feel something other than nausea and worry. I want to submit to my baser instincts. Besides, the release of hormones will do me some good.”

Her movements were tantalisingly slow, squeezing him. She felt different, thicker, slicker. He had to stop himself from thrusting up too hard but she was flaming around him and his baser needs were building and building. He clenched his buttocks and pushed into her, holding down her hips as he did so.

A pained cry and she sat higher, lifting off him, not quite clear but enough so the rush of cooler air surrounded him. “It’s okay,” she said, voice husky. “I’m okay.”

Her mouth sought his and her breasts fell against his chest. He ran his fingers up and down her spine. Her skin was cool, goose-bumped. “I’m sorry, Scully. Let me help you…”

But she rolled off and went to the bathroom.

***

Tara has cooked a feast. There are three kinds of roast meats, two types of potato dish, pumpkin, vegetable varieties, crusty bread rolls, salads and various sauces and pickles. There’s barely enough room at the table to breathe. Everywhere there is a jug, a pot, a bowl, all perfectly lined up, poised. Matthew has arrived and sits opposite Mulder, a carbon copy of Bill.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr Mulder.” The young man’s hand is thrust into his, over the glazed carrots.

“And you too, Matthew. How’s life treating you?” He’s mentally calculating how old this he would be. Have they missed his twenty-first? He doesn’t remember.

“I’m majoring in Economics, Sir. There’s a post-grad internship at one of the major banks in the city I’m applying for. How’s your portfolio looking?”

Bill guffaws and Tara smiles as she serves Mulder pumpkin and pork. “Oh, I didn’t check, you do eat it, don’t you?”

“For God’s sake, Tara, he’s not a practising Jew.” Bill piles beef and chicken onto his plate. “Any wedding plans, Dana?” he adds, as he mounds potato and peas next to his meat.

Scully, to her credit, simply smiles as she serves herself some vegetables. Tara holds her breath. Matthew pours red into Mulder’s glass and offers some to Scully. She covers her glass with her hand. “None for me.”

“Oh, Dana, I was hoping to get silly with you tonight,” Tara says, cheeks already pink.

“I’m not able to drink at the moment,” she says and Mulder notices the tremble of his hands as he serves himself some broccoli and cauliflower. This is it, he thinks. And he finds himself subconsciously reaching for his weapon. His pocket is empty, of course.

“Are you sick?” Tara asks. Bill watches his sister closely, eyes slightly narrowed.

“No, I’m…we’re… it’s unexpected, but Mulder and I…” she reaches across to him to take his hand. Warm and soft. “We’re having a baby.”

He squeezes, tries to breathe but the blow to his guts from her announcement has winded him. Out loud, here, before her family, hearing their news is like listening to the hundreds of people who confided in them over the years of the X-Files, about poltergeists, presences, ghosts, monster dogs, pixies, doppelgangers, unicorns, Yetis, blood-sucking goats and vampires. He shrinks into himself but at the same time knows he needs to be bigger, stronger, for Scully.

Tara is already around the table hugging Scully before he can even consider Bill’s response, who is watching his wife, his knife and fork clattering to the table. Bill finishes his mouthful, pushes his chair back.

“What in the name of God, Dana? What are you saying?”

Scully wrestles herself free from her sister-in-law. “I’m saying that I’m pregnant, Bill. That I’m having a baby. We’re having a baby.”

Mulder stands behind Scully, hands on her shoulders. She’s tense but he feels her breathing even out and he breathes too. In and out. The pit of fear solid in his gut but anger at Bill’s attitude making it a good fear, a useful fear. They can do this, they can prove them all wrong. They can give this child a life. A good life. A safe life.

“How about congratulations, Bill?” Mulder holds out his hand. Bill’s hands clench at his sides, his jaw sets firm, his eyes drilling through Mulder.

“Yes, honey. This is fantastic news. A surprise, yes, but it’s a miracle. A beautiful miracle,” Tara says, kissing the side of Scully’s face. She rushes to Mulder and hugs him close.

Bill puts down his serviette. It flops open on his food. “What will you do?” It’s not even a question. It’s a statement about their life. Mulder almost nods in agreement. What will they do? They haven’t even begun to work their way through this. There’s too much grieving to do, too much processing to wade through. They haven’t come to terms with the impact of losing William, let alone faced what bringing another child into the world will mean.

“We’ll do what we always do,” Scully says quietly, but with authority, with hope, with the sense of belief that they’ve both been searching for. She loops her arm through Mulder’s, tips her chin up to him and smiles. “We’ll find a way.”


End file.
